


Vodka & Pogo

by IllBeRightBack



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Duct Tape, M/M, Teasing, pogo can literally never shut the fuck up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:02:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllBeRightBack/pseuds/IllBeRightBack
Summary: Tim's pre-show routine can be a pain in the ass sometimes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, SUPER rarepair.
> 
> Oh god what even is this. Anyways, shout tf out to Marina 4 this one, she deserves this for supplying half the Manson fic in the world, you’re the real mvp.
> 
> I'm deceased. bury me with my Big Black CD's 
> 
> A bit inspired by Tim saying his pre-show routine is “Vodka and Pogo”

Step one was under way. Tim was pleasantly buzzed, only a few shots left in the bottle of vodka he was holding. He took another drag off his cigarette and glanced at the clock. An hour and a half until the show. He would have to begin his search for step two momentarily. 

Tim sighed out smoke, leaning against the table of the dressing room. He took another drink straight from the bottle, barely cringing at the burn. Years of practice. Going to take another swig, Tim wasn’t met with a pleasant fiery sensation in his throat this time. He realized the bottle was empty. He looked at the red lipstick on the bottle before smiling to himself and setting it down on the table with a clink. He ashed his cigarette before fixing his makeup.

Now for step two.

“Where are you?” Tim sighed to himself, exiting the dressing room and looking down the hall. 

John was standing and holding his guitar not too far down the hallway.

“Hey,” Tim said, approaching him languidly, “Seen Pogo?”

“Uh, I think he’s with Manson… Out back,” John answered, distracted by the tuning keys on his guitar. “Why?”

Tim just half smiled as John looked up at him.

“For fuck’s sake, find a door that locks this time,” John said dramatically, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall.

“Or have you ever thought about knocking?” Tim asked.

“It was MY dressing room”

“OK, fine, what crawled up your ass?” Tim scoffed a laugh.

“Just go find him, I need to focus.”

Tim put his hands up in sarcastic surrender and walked away to the heavy black door leading outside.  
He pushed it open with a little resistance and stepped into the fleeting sunlight. He squinted, preferring the dim backstage lighting. He looked to his right and, sure enough, Manson and Pogo were leaned against the brick wall. Tim chuckled a little to himself and stalked over to them.

“Out for a fag?” Manson asked.

“What?” Tim questioned.

“A smoke… Isn’t that a thing?” Manson clarified.

“UK. Wrong country, dumb ass.” Tim scoffed.

“Oh whatever, are you out for a smoke or not?” Manson asked.

“No. Had one inside” Tim answered.

Pogo was curiously quiet at the moment.

“What? We’re not supposed to smoke in the dressing rooms here.” Manson parented.

“...Well fuck,” Tim sighed a laugh.

“Yeah, who's the dumb ass now?” Manson sneered.

“That would still be you… And I’m not here for you… I need to borrow this one,” Tim said, running a hand down Pogo’s arm. He was fidgeting as usual and a maniacal smile spread across his face.

“Yeah, yeah, go, and remember, I need him ALIVE for the show, OK?” Manson scolded Pogo sarcastically.

“No promises,” He giggled a little. 

Manson rolled his eyes and the pair stepped back inside the venue. Up at the far end of the hallway, they saw Dita walk across the floor, no doubt trying to find where Manson had disappeared to. 

Tim realized he was almost dragging Pogo by the hand behind them. He hadn’t realized he was walking so fast and slowed his pace so Pogo could walk at his side.

He returned to his dressing room with his person of interest in tow and shut the door behind them, locking it.

“Drank it all without me, dick,” Pogo complained, examining the empty bottle of vodka on the table.

“Mooore” Tim called, waving another bottle he pulled from his bag in hand. 

“Thank fuck,” Pogo sighed. 

Tim didn’t feel like fucking around tonight… Well, he felt like fucking around… But not metaphorically. He took initiative and grabbed Pogo gently by the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards the dressing room couch, sitting him down and straddling his waist. Pogo didn’t resist, he just watched in amusement.

Tim unscrewed the bottle and tipped his head back, taking a long drink before taking his lips off the mouth of the bottle.

“Save some for me, Christ,” Pogo laughed.

“Oh, shut up, there’s still plenty left,” Tim rolled his eyes.

Pogo drank like Tim: A-fucking-lot, and soon he was riding the same pleasant wave of intoxication that Tim was.

And now they were here. Step two, mouths fighting hungrily against one another’s, Tim grinding into Pogo’s lap until it wasn’t enough.

“You locked the door, right?” Pogo asked, pulling away for air.

“Yeah,” Tim said, hands already working on his belt.

“Are you sure?” Pogo asked again.

“YES, damn it, just fuck me already,” Tim demanded.

“...Can you check? John doesn’t need anymore trauma,” Pogo laughed a little.

“Oh my fucking God,” Tim sighed dramatically. He got out of Pogo’s lap and checked the door handle. Locked. 

Walking back to the couch, Tim sat back in Pogo’s lap quickly.

“Happy?” He asked sarcastically.

“Locked?” Pogo teased this time.

“I’m going to strangle you,” Tim threatened.

“I thought you were only into being strangled?” Pogo inquired.

“You talk too fucking much,” Tim said, sealing their lips again and grinding down a little harder into his lap.

Despite Tim attacking his lips with his own, he was still attempting to make conversation.

“Wish you hadn’t left your gag at the hotel huh?” Pogo said, a little muffled by Tim trying to shove his tongue down his throat.

“SHUT. UP.” Tim almost yelled.

“Make me,” Pogo said sarcastically and giggled that laugh of insanity that made Tim want to scream.

“Make you huh? Fine,” Tim said, suddenly leaving Pogo’s lap.

He thought he saw some duct tape around here somewhere. He unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. A couple doors down, Tim spotted a roll of duct tape on the table. He snatched it and turned to walk back to the dressing room and almost bumped right into Ginger.

“Whoa, where you going with that?” He asked.

“Pogo has a big mouth,” Tim sighed and speed walked back to the dressing room, leaving Ginger in stunned silence before he shrugged and kept walking to wherever the hell his final destination was, Tim was not concerned with that right now.

He slammed the dressing room door behind him and locked it. Of course, Pogo was pacing around the room hyperactively. 

“Sit,” Tim commanded him, like a dog. He was growing more and more impatient by the second.

Pogo did as he was told, giving out another giggle as Tim walked over to him and straddled his waist.

Tim was not in the mood to waste anymore time, he pulled a strip of duct tape off with his teeth and tossed the roll behind him carelessly.

“Did you lock-” Unfortunately, Pogo’s million dollar question was cut off by Tim roughly sticking the strip of duct tape over his mouth.

“It’s locked, shut the fuck up,” Tim said dominantly, FINALLY getting Pogo’s dick out of his pants. He had to do everything himself didn’t he?

A muffled sound from behind the tape sounded like “Lube?”.

“Done, you waste so much damn time opening me up, gotta do it myself,” Tim sighed exhaustively.

What a chore the other man was to him sometimes.

Pogo reached a hand to pull the tape off his mouth, but was stopped by Tim’s firm grip on his wrist.

“Do I have to do your hands to?” Tim threatened in annoyance.

Pogo just rolled his eyes and his hand retreated.

Tim stood up again, removing his pants and taking his seat back in Pogo’s lap. 

“Can never behave, can you?” Tim sighed, running his fingers teasingly over the other man’s dick.

A low, muffled groan from behind the duct tape as his eyes closed and he tilted his head back slightly.

“Gonna behave now? I’m not here to fucking babysit you,” Tim asked.

Pogo nodded slowly, eyes still closed. Tim positioned himself before sliding down.

“Good,” He grit out, trying to keep his voice steady as he moved down on Pogo’s dick.

Another muffled groan from behind the duct tape, louder this time.

Tim stayed still for a moment before starting to move up in down at a sadistically slow pace.

“Christ,” He groaned out.

He thought he heard a muffled “fuck” from behind the duct tape, but he wasn’t sure, as he was a little busy at the moment.

He started moving faster, Pogo trying to dick up into him. His bitten-down nails were digging hard into Tim’s hips.

“You drive me out of my fucking mind,” Tim growled into his ear, holding closer to him now as he returned to a sickeningly slow pace purely to torment his partner.

Pogo was trying to control Tim’s movements and make them faster by pulling on his hips, but Tim resisted, keeping his torturous rhythm.

“You want more?” Tim teased a little brattily.

Pogo nodded again.

“Are you gonna behave next time?” Tim asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The pace was killing him just as much as it was Pogo.

He nodded again, faster this time.

“Are you suuuuure?” He drew out this last word. Pogo was going to slaughter him.

A low, impatient grunt from behind the duct tape was his answer.

“You’re dead if you’re lying to me, love,’’ Tim said, lovingly, threateningly.

Tim quickened the pace now, feeling that Pogo had been edged enough and that he didn’t feel like being that much of a jerk right now. He also desperately needed to get off himself.

One of Pogo’s hands released Tim’s hip and started to jerk him, matching the pace he was being ridden at.

“That’s better,” Tim breathed praise.

Tim moved faster now, biting his lip to stifle the louder moans rising in his throat. Just because everyone knew they fucked didn’t mean everyone had to know they were fucking right now.

“You’re the worst,” Tim mindlessly babbled in his ear.

Another, louder moan from Pogo at Tim’s words.

“Close?” Tim asked.

Pogo nodded shortly, the best he could.

“Yeah?” Tim breathed, slowing almost to a complete stop. This tortured him as much as it did the other man.

He couldn’t believe his ears when Pogo, Madonna Wayne-Fucking-Gacy, whined submissively. He could have sworn he heard a muffled “please”.

That was enough to drive Tim over the edge, moving at full speed now. Soon, he was spilling over Pogo’s hand on his dick and his partner followed.

Tim leaned against Pogo’s forehead, breathing heavily for a moment before reaching a hand up and ripping the duct tape off his mouth, eliciting a hiss from Pogo.

“Was that so hard?”


End file.
